I stopped writing for huge chunks of my twenties. Ironically, a lot of it happened in Chicago, the town that I had long considered my true home—a muse. I just couldn’t get myself to do it. Despite the thriving creative life I’d imagined for myself there, I could only care enough to pursue it when I came back home.
In a similar fashion, becoming a mother is what finally drove me to build my writing work into what could perhaps be called the start of a career. Those little pockets of time drove me to the computer and channeled all the thoughts swirling around in my head into something more or less coherent.